


Birthday Wishes

by MistressOfTheGame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfTheGame/pseuds/MistressOfTheGame
Summary: Sirius Black celebrates his first birthday in Azkaban.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of Sirius Black's Birthday.  
> Characters belong to J.K Rowling, because copyrights don't give a fuck about Barthes.

_3rd November, 1981_

On his third day in Azkaban, he discovers a window in his cell. It is small with iron bars on it and it barely lets in any light. But when he sits on the floor, he can look out at the sky. The cloudy mist created by the Dementors obscures any stars, but it still reminds him that there is more to the world than the memories that haunt him.  
He tries to evade sleep for as long as he can, for when he closes his eyes he _remembers_.  
He remembers the laughter that scraped its way through his lips, manic, as he stood amidst the remains of the twelve muggles. He remembers the smell of their burning flesh, so like frying bacon.  
He remembers Peter casting the blasting hex, and scurrying away like the rat he is.  
He remembers Harry’s cries, Lily’s crumpled form and James…James lying in the rubble with his glasses askew.  
He blinks at the sky, fists balled, chanting the mantra he developed a few days ago.  
Inhale. Exhale.  
“I didn’t kill them”  
Inhale. Exhale.  
“Peter is the traitor.”  
Inhale. Exhale.  
“I am _innocent_.”  
But was he really? Invariably, thoughts of Remus invade his consciousness.  
The gradual shift from impish grins and knowing glances to guarded looks and frozen smiles.  
Late night conversations reduced to platonic small talk that hid more than it revealed.  
The tenacity with which they clung to each other after sex, as if to remind one another that the past had not been a figment of their imagination.  
“I will kill the Rat”, he vows, as the dementors swoop by his cell once more, erasing the the memory of Remus’s lips whispering “Happy Birthday” against his own.

 


End file.
